ON THE MOUND
Dud wondered――Jimmy wasn’t there to stop him!――what Mr. Sargent would
say to him on Monday regarding that performance of his in the Lawrence
Textile game. As a matter of fact, Mr. Sargent said absolutely nothing,
either then or at any other time. There was very light practice that
afternoon, most of it batting, and the fellows were dismissed early,
many of them returning after changing to the practice diamond to watch
the second team put away the Grafton High School nine. It wasn’t
a vastly exciting affair, however, for the second, with Joe Kelly
pitching, had things about its own way. Dud and Jimmy departed at the
end of the seventh inning, leaving the home team five runs to the good,
and spent a half-hour on the river in Nick Blake’s canoe. (Jimmy asked
permission when they returned, and so that was all right!) Jimmy was
troubled today and made Dud his confidant as they paddled slowly along
under the drooping boughs. His trouble concerned Starling Meyer. But
we’ll let Jimmy tell it in his own inimitable way.
“Someone,” said Jimmy morosely, “has told Star he could play baseball.
Huh! That’s all right, too, but what’s the use of making me let go
the second and then dumping me in just when the fun begins? How do I
know I’ll be dumped? Well, I don’t, I suppose. But, listen, if that
chap keeps on butting in where’ll I be? Ordway and Boynton and Parker
are sure of the outfield places unless they break a leg or a neck or
something. Well, sure, that’s O. K.; they’re better than I am. I know
that. The only chance I get is when one of ’em is out of the game.
One of ’em’s likely to be out now and then and so I get a whack. All
right, say we. But here comes this――this Indian, Meyer, butting in and
snooping around for the crumbs, too. That makes two of us; three, if
you count Ben Myatt; and Pete’s likely to put Ben in center or right
any chance he gets because Ben can bat like a whale! If Star Meyer’d
mind his own business, which is playing hockey and running creation,
I’d have a fair chance to get into one of the Mount Morris games,
wouldn’t I? Sure, I would! Parker isn’t very spry on that game leg of
his, and I’ve noticed that Boynton is looking sort of like a friend of
mine looked before he went into a decline. And Hobo might fall out of
his canoe any day and get drowned――if he’d only use it more. I must
suggest it to him. He doesn’t get enough exercise. Why the dickens
can’t Star keep out of it? That’s what I want to know. Something told
me away last winter that I’d have trouble with that galoot before the
year was over!”
“I thought I was the one,” said Dud slyly.
Jimmy grunted. “So did I. Well, anyway, one good thing is that faculty
hasn’t forbidden _me_ to take a fall out of him!”
“But you can’t very well thrash a fellow for just playing ball, Jimmy!”
“I can beat him up for interfering with my affairs,” responded the
other with dignity. “Bet you anything you like he will work around Guy
Murtha and Guy’ll take him along to Corliss day after tomorrow.”
“I suppose Parker will be back by then,” suggested Dud.
“Parker? Oh, I dare say. But, listen, Dud, between you and me now,
I don’t believe Parker stands awfully high with Pete. I wouldn’t be
surprised if he didn’t get back again; regularly, I mean. And if he
doesn’t, why, maybe little Jimmy T. Logan will have a chance, eh? That
is, if Meyer doesn’t persuade Guy that he’s a ball-player beforehand.”
“You’re hitting better than Star, aren’t you?”
“N――no, I don’t think so. Wish I were! Still, I get my base a heap
oftener. I suppose shooting at hockey helps Star hit the ball. Say, do
you know, Dud darling, I’m going to be sort of peeved and disappointed
if I don’t get into one of those Mount Morris games? I wasn’t awfully
keen at first, as you know, but now that I’ve started I’d like to make
good. Besides,” he added gloomily, “the family’ll be here for that
second game and I’d feel like an awful chump if I had to swing my legs
on the bench all the afternoon!”
“You’d be in good company,” said Dud.
“Meaning you?” asked the other, as he turned the canoe back toward
home. “Oh, you’ll get your chance, Dud. Mount Morris has got some
hitters, they say, and if she has neither Myatt nor Nate Leddy will
last the games through. As for Brunswick, I guess he’s a goner for this
year.”
“There’s Weston, though.”
“That’s so, too. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to see Gus turn around
and pitch a corking game some day soon. I guess the trouble with Gus
is that he’s too temperamental. He and I are alike that way. If the
weather isn’t just right or the moon’s in the wrong quarter or the
tide’s too high or his shoe pinches him, Gus can’t pitch a little bit.
But some day all the signs are going to be just right, and Gus will
slip on a pair of old shoes, and he will go out there and make ’em eat
out of his hand.” Jimmy paused. Then: “Maybe,” he added cautiously,
“you can’t tell about Gus. Like me, he has the artistic temperament.”
“Well,” said Dud, after a long silence and as they swung the canoe into
the Cove, “I hope you get into all the Mount Morris games, Jimmy, and
do finely. And I hope,” he added wistfully, “that they let me pitch an
inning or two in one of them. I――I’d like that.”
“And I,” responded Jimmy, “hope as how you gets your hope! Easy on! Let
her run, sonny!”
It looked the next day as though Jimmy might be right about Gordon
Parker, for although that youth was back for practice with his leg
evidently as useful as ever, he did not get back into the outfield
when the first and second lined up for the practice game. Instead,
Boynton played in right, Jimmy in center and Ordway in left until
the fifth inning, when Star Meyer took Jimmy’s place, much to that
youth’s disgust. Leddy and Weston pitched that afternoon. Ben Myatt
had been more affected by the heat on Saturday than he or anyone else
had suspected at the time, and was said to be nursing himself for the
next day’s game with Corliss College. Save for pitching to the batters
in practice, neither Dud nor Brunswick did any work that afternoon.
Dud watched the game from the bench and listened, during the last two
innings, to Jimmy’s frank expressions of hurt feelings. Every time a
fly ball went into center field Jimmy watched it hopefully.
“Hope he muffs it! Hope he mu―――― Isn’t that rotten luck? Anyway,
that’s a bum throw-in! If I couldn’t do better than that――sometimes――I
wouldn’t try to get an honest man’s job away from him. Say, you’re
next, Churchill. Knock a long one into center, will you? Put it about
fifty feet over Meyer’s head, like a good fellow!”
But in spite of Jimmy’s hopes and criticisms Star played a good enough
game in center and managed to get a rather lucky hit the only time he
went to bat. Jimmy tried to bribe Manager Barnes to score it as an
error for the second team shortstop, but failed.
There was an early and rather hurried dinner for the players the
next day and the team, eighteen strong, bowled away to the station
shortly after one o’clock. Much to his surprise, Dud made one of four
pitchers to accompany it, and Jimmy, too, was of the number. Jimmy’s
satisfaction, however, was somewhat spoiled by the presence of Star
Meyer. Parker was left behind. So, too, was Ben Myatt, still suffering
from what the school physician had diagnosed as “a touch of heat.” Ben
was instructed to keep out of the hot sunlight and, when playing, wear
a fold of paper inside his cap. Mr. Sargent, however, had no intention
of allowing Ben to pitch again until he was so far recovered as not to
require that paper. The first of the series with Mount Morris would
be played on Saturday, just three days later, and so Ben had been
instructed to stay right at home and be very, very good to himself.
Leddy, Weston, Brunswick and Dud would undoubtedly manage between them
to dispose of Corliss, for Corliss, although called a college, was
little more than a preparatory school and was not considered dangerous.
Corliss lay an hour and forty minutes away by railroad, although the
actual distance was about thirty-eight miles. The team had to change
at Needham Junction first and, later on, at North Taunton, and in
consequence was somewhat weary when it finally disembarked from the
trolley car that had brought it from the Corliss Station to the nearest
point to the school. They paraded up a tree-shaded street, past some
yellow-brick building that looked uncomfortably hot and glary today,
and eventually reached the field, a very ambitious affair, inclosed
with a brick wall and containing a permanent stand of concrete and a
picturesque building of the same material roofed with red tiles. The
fellows secretly admired that field, but they pretended to consider
it too dressy and made a good deal of fun of the commodious and
well-appointed building into which they were shown. There they had a
room all to themselves and three shower baths as well. By the time
they had changed to playing togs the stand was well sprinkled with
spectators and a welcoming cheer greeted them as they took the field
for practice. Only some dozen and a half Graftonians had accompanied
the nine, for examinations held many at school and others were too
poor to pay for the trip. But the handful of patriotic youths gathered
themselves into a small but devoted group in a corner of the big stand
and from the first appearance of the Scarlet-and-Gray on the diamond to
the end of the contest made enough noise for thrice their number.
All four pitchers were set to warm up while the fielders practiced.
Will Brunswick, by this time reconciled to his fate, went through the
motions in a mechanical fashion, but the other three set to work hard,
each hoping to get the call. After the Corliss players, a rather hefty
lot of blue-stockinged and blue-sleeved youths, had taken the field
and completed their warming up, Mr. Sargent had a consultation with
Guy Murtha and Pete Gordon. Dud pretended no interest as he sat on the
bench between Hugh Ordway and Neil Ayer, but secretly he was a very
anxious boy. Manager Barnes was getting the batting order now from the
coach and Dud, while answering a remark of Hugh’s, strained his ears to
hear.
“Blake, Winslow, Ordway, Murtha, Ayer, Boynton, Meyer”――Dud felt sorry
for Jimmy then――“Gordon and――I’ll give you the pitcher later.” Mr.
Sargent nodded to Nick Blake. “Start it up,” he said.
Nick went to bat while Mr. Sargent arose and, after watching the work
of the opposing pitcher, a broad-shouldered and rather slow-moving
fellow named Walters, for a few moments, moved along and spoke to Nate
Leddy. Dud’s gaze followed, although he tried not to let it. The coach
and Leddy spoke for several moments, their eyes all the while on the
Corliss twirler. At last Mr. Sargent nodded and Leddy settled back in
his seat, turning to his companion on the left, Boynton, and making a
remark that brought, as Dud saw, a look of surprise to the face of the
right fielder. Mr. Sargent remained behind the bench, watching Nick
Blake trying to find something useful to him amongst the slow, wide
curves that the blue-legged pitcher was offering. Nick finally slammed
one across the diamond, but was an easy out, shortstop to first.
Bert Winslow raised a long fly to left field and likewise retired and
Hugh Ordway, after fouling off a couple, was badly fooled on a drop and
fanned. As the players arose from the bench to trot into the field Dud,
who had forgotten the coach for the moment, felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Baker, I’m going to let you start,” said Mr. Sargent. “You’ve pitched
to Brooks a good deal, haven’t you? Would you rather have him handle
you than Gordon?”
“He knows my stuff pretty well, sir,” stammered Dud. “But it’s just as
you say, sir.”
The coach called to Ed Brooks. “You catch Baker, Brooks,” he said.
“Let’s see what you can do, my boy. Study your batters and watch the
bases. Barnes, put Brooks down for Gordon and Baker last. All right
now, you two. Show what you can do.”
Dud started for the mound, drawing on his glove, but Brooks overtook
him on the way. “Say, Dud, don’t let’s slip up on signals, eh?” he said
anxiously. “If you don’t get ’em sing out. And if you use that side-arm
pitch signal beforehand, will you? I’m always afraid of that getting by
me. Lift your cap in front and I’ll know, see? All right, Dud!”